Redemption
by foxfiresword
Summary: He was not actually killed, lost in darkness, he wanders to rediscover himself. Nergal, the dark druid.
1. Awakening

**Awakening **

The dread isle, a cold and desolate land rang with the howling of wolves. The rank smell of decaying flesh filled the air, the morphs or rather the foul mockeries of life lay as a grotesque decoration for the already twisted island. Down the path, enshrouded by the malevolent woodlands lay a large structure, a giant prison, kept to protect Elibe from darkness.

Within the labyrinth, decorations and ancient totems lay lined across the walls. The sickly green hue that coloured the labyrinth only served to illustrate a darkly cloaked figure lying dormant on the ground. A powerful magician he was known. Powerful he had called himself, wise beyond any other he had shown himself to be. In reality though, he was among the follies of mankind. He had in haste believed himself to be divine, a god, and in consequence had felt justice delivered upon him.

They had thought him dead, but fate plays its cards strangely, with the oddest of people.

Presumably dead, the sorcerer's eyes opened.

In confusion, the man heaved himself off the cold floor. He gazed frantically around, curious as to where he was. Turning to his side, he noticed the chilling eyes of a morph. The sorcerer yelled in surprise and backed away quickly. He closed his eyes and ordered himself to be calm. He let out deep slow breaths, and began rationalizing the situation. Flashes of memories entered his mind, most of which were incoherent and held no worthwhile information.

Upon regaining his composure he surveyed the area and felt a small twinge of curiosity. Slowly but surely, the sorcerer accepted his surrounds in faint recognition. The place was definitely familiar, but nothing surprised him, for he could not remember what had actually happened.

The area was decorated oddly. It had symbols; drawings of ancient reptilian creatures. The hallway was dark and unforgiving. The passageway was littered with corpses, and disturbing images lay, as if to enhance the evil of the area. To the sorcerer's dismay, none of his surroundings disturbed him in the least.

His mind, nonetheless, was littered in confusion. "What is this evil place? What was I doing here? Why am I so weary and pained," were among the many questions that littered the sorcerer's mind.

He finally looked down upon his calloused hands.

"Who am I," the sorcerer mused, amid the unyielding dark.


	2. Speculation

**Speculation**

The sorcerer sat within the ancient prison. Nothing surprised him at all.

_But why? he wondered. This is certainly a most disturbing place. It is unusual; it is unhealthy, why am I not afraid?_

There was something that drew him into this place; something that had held him here. Moreover, this dark place, with its etched runes and ancient look, seemed familiar to him.

Standing up, he staggered through the familiar hallway. The thick musty stench lured him close to the entrance. His vision adjusted to the faint red light and in dismay, his eyes widened upon noticing a whole crowd of familiar bodies. Forgotten, unkempt, and ignored, these creatures were as alive in death as they were in life; they were created for the sole purpose of fighting, not to live or love.

These thoughts seemed to make sense to the tired man, as he glanced into their cool golden eyes. He shivered as he noticed one that lay in the centre. Ash grey hair, and gleaming eyes decorated a pale face. However, it had an expression of peace; a tranquility of one who was freed from a fake existence.

The sorcerer felt a chill through his spine. He was repulsed by these silent abominations.

"_Why are these faces so familiar," _he wondered again. Gazing into the eyes of the central body, the sorcerer reminisced, _"Do I know you?"_

There was clearly something wrong. The sorcerer knew it. He could not understand anything that had happened. "It must have been a battle" he whispered to none but himself, "It certainly feels that way." He tried to remember who he had been fighting, but all in vain. He only remembered flashing lights and a mighty blade wreathed in flames.

Feelings of pain and exhaustion travelled in bouts throughout his body. He continued down through another familiar passageway until he could no longer walk. It was time, he decided, to rest.

The sorcerer began speculating his position, his intelligent features twisted in thought. Whatever had happened was obviously violent. Still, he could not determine his role in the entire battle. Some of the constructs he had seen were adorned in dark robes and others were armed in mighty suits of armour, but each of them however bore a faint resemblance to the other. The sorcerer came to the conclusion that somehow, one way or another; he was connected to these fell constructs. But how, was the question.

He finally felt exhaustion wear away upon his mental reserves. Closing his eyes, he fell into a tumultuous sleep.


	3. The Dream

**The Dream **

He noticed at first the place was bright; the sun was shining upon a green field decorated with roses. He frowned and walked up the peculiar hill. He had misplaced something, he knew it. _It's a nuisance, he decided. I doubt I should find it anywhere but here. _

The fragrance that dotted the field and the singing of birds were familiar. He noticed off in the distance the thin figure of a pale young woman. Her hair was turquoise, billowing with the wind. She was arrayed in modest clothes, with an enchanting white scarf.

He wondered whether this woman knew where he had misplaced his property. Reluctantly at first, he walked forward. Each step that he took towards the strange maiden strengthened his resolve. Upon reaching her, he asked "I happened to have lost something, which I should dearly want back. Tell me please, where I may find it?"

She simply smiled at him. He repeated the question this time more agitatedly. It was about time he found what he had lost. It was, he remembered, very important to him.

The figure just shook her head and began crying. The tears flowed freely down her soft cheeks, and onto to the green grass. The grass began to shudder from these tears, and the sun was covered by clouds. Rain fell down as if in punishment to the brute that had caused the poor woman to weep. The woman stopped her mourning, and pointed at two small children off in the distance. The sorcerer noticed they were both extremely thin and wearied, and what more, they were frightened of him. He wondered whether they knew where his property was. The woman looked accusingly at him, and then pointed again, this time more forcefully at the two children.

A chilling voice whispered within him, warning him away from the lady. It was deep and rasping.

_Nergal… You cannot escape what you are… embrace the darkness…_

The sorcerer frowned at this voice. It was familiar, he had heard it before, but here, in this beautiful place with this kind young woman, it was nothing more then a nagging whisper.

The woman closed her eyes and let out a sad smile. She held out her hands, and the sorcerer nervously, accepted them.

The moment he felt her touch, waves of warmth filled his body. All emptiness and confusion was lost. He let out a peaceful sigh and closed his eyes.

Upon opening them, he recognized he was back in the dark, foul smelling hallway. He felt an extreme sense of bitterness; it choked him and smote his entire figure. In the dream he had felt for the first time in his life, complete. However, in reality he was a lost forsaken wretch.

The voice, once again, reached him. Nergal closed his eyes in fear; the voice was closer this time, more dangerous, and more real.

_Nergal… You cannot escape what you are… come with me…_

The winds of the dread isle continued their dark requiem.


End file.
